One day at Balboa Park

I remember one distinct day at Balboa Park. It was so hot.

We used to go to a lot of parks, though I don’t particularly remember my mom as someone I spent a lot of time outside with. I’m glad she didn’t have an iphone back then, because I wouldn’t be able to look back on her pleasure of carrying and tediously working on crossword puzzles everywhere she sat. As I call for her spiritual essence to waft through my memoryscapes, I see her walking out of restaurants to the car, spritely clicking her short steps onto thin heels in parking lots, crossword wad folded in one hand jammed tightly against a bunch of other printed nonsense.

But I remember that day in Balboa park- the memory came out of nowhere, like a song not heard in decades that suddenly pops through the black plastic mesh of the car radio. It was a brief but vigorous phase of going to a lot of parks. I remember the Twisty Turny park - we used to call it that because of this crazy rope twisty gadget and because it had the best jungle gym by lightyears - It would get so incredibly hot there. Sweltering. And the grass on the hills would even be dry, crisp and yellow all summer long. Balboa Park must’ve been that hot too, but you don’t realize the drama of weather when you’re young like I was back then. The fun of a new platform, a new spaceship, a new trick to try out on the jungle gym overrides the recognition of heat.

But this one day at balboa, I found myself slowing from the excitement of play, starting to crave scootering closer by my mom. I started to feel the heat. I just wanted her near me. I wanted to understand what type of creature she was, what beautiful souls like her did and what they liked. She was perfect then, working so hard all the time and would take us to the park. That day it was like I began to want to grow up, to become closer, to be more like her.

Later, we fell to the swooning siren of the ice cream truck and found ourselves magnetized toward its mass. That day was the first time I chose a Powerpuff Girls ice cream pop, and I watched the heat rise in magic waves from the concrete in the distance. I had always eyed it but never dared to get that Bubbles-blue frozen treat. I remember popping out the gumball eyes, chewing, then feeling the little bit of gum get stiff and frozen, becoming unchewable. I wouldn't dare waste any of its precious worth; I kept chewing long after its semi-calcification.

Perhaps on the same park day, I got my tongue stuck on a firecracker popsicle, the kind that makes your mouth all red and then blue. Or is it blue then red? Anyway, it arrived precious as a babe into my hands-- apparently not substantial in size enough to give off the bit of heat needed to transform the flavored steaming ice block into an edible cool treat. I had never gotten something stuck to my tongue like that before and still haven't experienced a rival occurrence. Even now, I’m hesitant to touch my mouth to a popsicle too quickly, without heating it up with a few hefty breaths.

She smiled a lot that day. She was the total mama that day. She probably wore her denim shorts and pink tank with a fanny pack. Big white sneakers marked the ends of her little legs, and gave her at least an inch worth of height. I miss those “her” outfits.

I wish I could just roam around her, watch her, admire her, because goddamn I miss her. I feel that empty space in my heart and around the walls of the places I inhabit. I feel the hole there as if this hole had a distinct sensation of a collapsing cave, black in color but so far from dark. I miss her sparkle. I miss her shine.

Most of all I miss the warmth of her smile on that hot, hot day, that let me know that it was all going to be ok.